


Silence is a Valid Option

by jettiebettie



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Drabble, Dubious Consent, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jettiebettie/pseuds/jettiebettie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Think you can handle that, kiddo?"<br/>"Yes, Jack."<br/>And Rhys can. If his little trip to Pandora taught him anything, it's that he can handle a whole hell of a lot.</p><p>But this might be a little much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence is a Valid Option

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oldmanrenkas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmanrenkas/gifts).



_Think you can handle that, kiddo?_

_Yes, Jack._

-

And Rhys can. If his little trip to Pandora taught him anything, it's that he _can_ handle a whole hell of a lot. He's lived through bandits, skags, guns shoved in his face, Hyperion scientists with weirdly cold hands poking around his port and pulling data out of his brain as if they were peeling apart grey matter as they went. Yeah, that was a fun time. He can handle the stress and he can handle the blood, even to say watching people die is just sort of... no big thing now. 

However, Rhys has noticed something. The Handsome Jack in his head and the Handsome Jack in real life? Very _different_ somethings. More so than he ever would have thought. A hologram can be intimating, sure, but at the end of the day it's still just a bunch of lights and numbers, unsettling at most and annoying at the very least. 

But Jack isn't in his head anymore. 

"Ah ah, pumpkin. Loosen up, Daddy's trying to move."

Breath is forced out of Rhys's throat, sweat already coating his skin in a light sheen as Jack's hips rotate forward. 

"Ye-yes, sir," he says, or thinks he says. His heart is beating so loudly in his ears, a thrumming he can feel throughout his body. The desk underneath him is no longer cooling his overheated skin, but it still keeps him stable. Well, stable enough. Enough to keep his weakened knees from dropping him to the floor with every push. 

"Atta boy," Jack says, moving his hands from Rhys's hips to plant them on the desk near his shoulders. "Come on, now."

Rhys swallows thickly, resting his forehead against the hard surface and rocking himself back onto Jack's cock. He builds a shaky rhythm, and with each pass he swears he feels a little more of the lubricant slide down his leg. And that's all he hears for a while; the wet slapping of their skin and his own ragged breathing. And maybe that's why he doesn't hear it at first, that beeping somewhere above his head. But then Jack slam his hand on the console, causing Rhys to jump and clench up. Jack groans but answers the call anyway.

"What?!" he snaps. Rhys doesn't listen to the man on the other end, he's too busy freaking out. He's stopped moving completely, frozen yet trembling with his mouth shut tight. It doesn't last. Jack's hips pull back and slam into him, wrenching out an embarrassing sound that Rhys will shove himself out an airlock for later.

" _Jack, sir? Are you still there?_ " a nervous voice asks. Rhys instinctively backs away from the sound, incidentally grinding back towards Jack.

"Yeah, go on. Keep doing what you're doing," Jack says, his tone cruel and gleeful, and Rhys knows he's talking to him. Panicked, he lifts his head from the desk.

" _E-excuse me, sir-?_ "

"Not you, frigging idiot." Jack thrusts again.

"J-jack, please stop!" Rhys tries to whisper, crowding himself back towards the desk. "I can't do this. Not like this-"

"Shut up." A hand shoves Rhys's head back down. When he tries to look back at the man behind him, the metal of his arm bites into his temple. "Who said you could interrupt?" The next thrust is so hard that it slams Rhys's hips into the desk and he knows there'll be some nasty, straight lined bruises tomorrow. But who cares about bruises when you can feel yourself shaking apart? Jack slides back out slowly, his other hand gripping Rhys's waist to pull him back. "Keep quiet, and do what you do best." Rhys tries to push himself up, but Jack grabs his right arm in warning. "Let the grown ups do the talking, kiddo."

He doesn't even wait for Rhys to reestablish a rhythm, just starts up his own, slow but jarring and more than Rhys can stand. He shouts out, clear and unmistakable.

" _Uuh, should I call back?_ "

"Not before you explain to me-" Jack thrusts hard again. "-why you people are dragging your asses all over the place."

" _The delays aren't unmanageable, I assure you. We just need-_ " Rhys whimpers out a pleading sound when Jack pauses to grind and roll his hips. The scientist begins to stumble over his words. " _Th-that is to say, a little more time is-_ "

"Ahh, Jack!" 

"Hold that thought, will ya?" Jack tells the man, straightening up.

Rhys can feel Jack doing something with his pants, but he takes the reprieve to gasp against the desk. He's too strung out to care about the saliva pooling around his lips, doesn't even notice it until he's suddenly pulled up by his hair and a line of it breaks from the surface and runs down his chin. The moan he lets out is abruptly cut off when a strap of leather is lopped around his neck. Before he can struggle, the belt is fastened and tightened, enough that he feels the buckle press into the base of his skull. Jack leans forward, his lips brushing against Rhys's ear.

"I should only have to tell you once, cupcake. Keep it up and I'll kiss that tongue of yours goodbye for you." As if to make his point, Jack bites down hard around Rhys's jaw. Jack pulls the belt like a leash, forcing Rhys to straighten up against his chest and away from the desk. But his knees are still useless and Jack has to wrap an arm around his waist to keep Rhys standing as he continues to thrust up into him.

"Ah-agk!" Rhys can't breathe. He can't breathe, he can't pull away, and he _can't_ handle this. He can't stop his vision from going dark around the edges and he can't keep his cock from leaking even harder. All he can do is hold onto the arm holding him and ride it out.

"You were saying?" Jack directs loudly to the line that is still open. There's a heavy silence seconds before the man speaks up.

" _A week. We just need a week to fix any issues,_ " he says with a tremor in his voice.

"You see, that's funny," Jack laughs, his hand tightening around the belt strap. "Because, you know, you'll be dead in three days. You make good notes there, pal? Got good handwriting? Your replacement's gonna need them."

Unexpectedly, Jack reaches his hand down and grips Rhys's agonized erection, hand moving in counter-motion to his thrusts. The noise that Rhys makes when he comes is drowned out by the pounding in his ears. 

He has no idea what happens to that poor guy on the phone; he blacks out with his lungs screaming and Jack groaning in his ear.

When he comes to, it's slowly and with his body still throbbing and breaths sounding more like wheezes. The belt is still around his neck, but it hangs loosely against the desk he's draped over. There's a hand on his lower back, holding him in place and he can feel something other than the lubricant running down his leg. He coughs weakly, trying to clear his airway.

"Wakey wakey, Rhysie." There's a sound of a zipper being pulled up. "Now, you and I need to have a little talk." No, Rhys thinks. He needs a shower and a nap and maybe a turtleneck. "You are one Chatty Cathy, princess." The hand on his back slides up to his neck. Rhys braces himself for the iron grasp, but it never comes. Instead, Jack traces what Rhys assumes are the marks left behind. "Listen up. In three days those morons are gonna call me back and either give me results or beg me not to kill their families. You have until then to learn a little obedience, cuz' let me tell you something, sugar." The hand combs into his hair and begins to slowly grip at the roots. "You're going to be there for that call and so is every department head, including your ripped little buddy from accounting. How quickly do you think he'd be able to tell that that whimpering little bitch over the line is _you_." Something like ice runs through Rhys's veins.

"Jack-" 

"My bet is the first five minutes."

"Don't, please," Rhys tries. 

"Then you better shape up. Think you can handle that, kiddo?"

No. No, he can't handle it, not this time. It's too much for his body, too much for his head, it's...

"Yes, Jack."

It'd probably be less stressful having a gun pointed at his junk. Again.

-

Based on [these](http://theteenagehorror.com/post/118516616368/spirals-down-into-the-rhack-hole-what-has-my-life) [comics](http://theteenagehorror.com/post/119681587638/nsfw-under-cut-its-basically-pwp-and-i-really) by [Renqa](http://theteenagehorror.com/).

**Author's Note:**

> (Did you know you can find me on tumblr at jettiebettie.tumblr.com? It's true.)


End file.
